I was 13 when I went on my first diet.
I had been struggling with my weight for about six years, and my obsession with how I looked was starting to dominate my life.
I only had two to three shirts that I felt comfortable in. The only thing that mattered was that they didn’t make me “feel fat.” Even those chosen shirts were always under my West 49 sweater, for extra coverage.
The cherry on top of this presentation was my slouched shoulders—a defense mechanism to protect against exposing my “man boobs,” the body part that had dynastic reign for being my biggest insecurity.
The way I viewed my body governed my self-worth.
I felt that my body held me back from enjoying countless moments of my life, and by the ripe age…